Some Days
by bourgeois-moustache
Summary: Stein/Marie drabbles. Slightly AU.


The bouts of madness were only starting to get worse. Each and every day a new attack came, each triggered by different things and each more painful than the last. Sometimes he sat at his desk, wondering about just ending it all, maybe just taking one of his scalpels and slitting ever so carefully on the flesh of his neck and just watching as the sickly sweet raspberry blood pours down his clothes and fills the room to the brim.

But then, the door would unlatch quietly and she would walk up to him and place a calming hand on his shoulder and he would be reminded that, yes, he was alive, and no, he was not going insane. He was _not_ going insane. She would offer him a cup of tea and corral him to bed as if she was Mother Goose and he was her gosling. Then, if he asked her politely enough, she would stay with him through the evening and through all his Kishin-fueled nightmares. She always said she would leave after he fell asleep, but each morning he found her snuggled up to his side, resting peacefully.

In the mornings, if he underwent an attack, they would go out shopping. She would do anything to get him away from the lab and into the sunshine. They'd walk through the market and pick up eggs and bacon and bread and then cook up a hearty breakfast, which she would force him to eat.

She'd make jokes, she'd laugh and tug at his sleeve and sometimes he'd placate her. He would laugh and smile along and lie to her. He never wanted her to know that he was dying inside.

In the afternoons, what they did varied from time to time. If he was keeping in good health and actually _eating_ three times a day, she would let him stay in the lab to work on his projects. She wouldn't bother him. She kept to her business and he to his, only interrupting for meals. Those were the good days.

Sometimes, though, the days weren't good. Sometimes he'd lock himself in a bathroom and she would sit outside murmuring calming words while he stood inside, finger on a razor blade. Sometimes he would go on and on, ranting and raving, screaming and clutching at his head. He didn't allow her to get near him when he was like that, so she sat outside and waited, tears streaming down her cheeks as she watched him torture himself from afar.

Then, there was the time that he regretted. That attack was fiercer than normal, and he didn't know what triggered it. One second he was chatting amiably with her about his experiments, the next, he was pulling his hair out and screaming at her about Death knows what. He was biting, frothing, crying…. how should he know how the scalpel got into his hand?

He swung it at her. The Kishin was inside of her, he had to rescue her. It hurt her to see him like this, and he vaguely registered that she was crying. The scalpel found her arm, and she did not say a word as she allowed it to bury itself in her flesh. The blood dripped down shoulder, and she grabbed his arm. He stopped then, and it seemed as if they were both frozen in time. He looked at her, and realized that she was not the crybaby that followed him around at the Academy long ago. She was all rage and power, neatly concealed under a perfectly placed grin.

"Stein. Franken Stein. Get ahold of yourself. Everything is alright. Be calm."

He broke under her gaze, and curled up on the floor. Everything was alright_. Everything was alright. _That was all he could remember of _that_ time.

It was only a small mission. Even Shinigami-sama had said so. She was sent with an up and coming meister and they left the morning after she was assigned. To take care of a witch was a hard job, but he was sure that she would put it off. She was special, he knew it.

It had been a week, but it was only a small mission. Even Shinigami-sama had said so. No word had been received from her, and that "up and coming" meister had his body sent back to the Academy with a note attached: "Please send Stein in return for the Death Scythe. XXX Medusa", it read.

That night, he had the worst attack in a long time. And she was not there to help him through.

_It is your fault._

_She left because you're unstable. Because you're __**weak**__. _

_She's dead because you can't pull yourself together. _

_Go die._

And he wanted to. He wanted to do it. But, as he lowered the razor down from his neck, he found it impossible to do so.

They found her on a ridge overlooking the sea somewhere in Europe. People wondered why she made it out alive. He wondered why Medusa loved to torture him so.

When he found her room, he wasn't surprised that it was full of flowers from almost every student at the DWMA. She was a favorite, after all. He grabbed a stool and sat, turning the screw in his head, in the hopes of bringing back a good memory that he could use to pass the time.

She was beaten badly, they told him. She might not make it. He would have to learn to take care of himself. As if. He lived before she came to him, right? He wouldn't have to learn, he already knew. But, still. If it came to the point where he needed to take care of himself, he probably wouldn't have the will.

Some said that he didn't feel any love, but what was love anyways, except for an intense urge to kill, dissect and devour all those who wronged the one you care about? It seemed the same to him.

He was there when she woke up. She was covered in bandages, now both of her eyes were unseeing. But they could deal with it. If she could be strong during his ordeals, then he could be strong during hers.

He didn't know what to say, he never was a person for dramatics. Her hand groped for his, and he clutched it.

"Stein. Franken Stein. Are you okay?"

She was dying, blinded, bloodied. He had torn her skin with a scalpel. And the first thing she asks him was if _he_ was okay.

"Yes. Yes. I'm okay, Marie. I'm okay."

The hum of the life support and her faint breathing was all the noise that he needed to reassure himself that they were both okay.

_He was okay. She was okay. We're all okay._

"I'm so glad to be alive," she said, and he grasped her hand tighter.

"Me too."


End file.
